


Never be satisfied

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Series: Helpless [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: And the unusual things they can do, Angst, F/M, Post 3x07 Pre 3x08, Skye | Daisy Johnson's Superpowers, Sloppy Makeouts, So much angst, The episode that rocked the Skoulson fandom, what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:44:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy and Coulson work on their own relationships, trying not to mind each others'. </p><p>It does not work.<br/>Post 3x07, Pre 3x08</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never be satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a silly idea but then I decided to ruin it for myself. Title is from "Satisfied" from Hamilton, a song which may or may not have contributed to my general malaise/heartbreak this week.  
> One of the sneak previews is summarized/speculated on at the end, so spoilers?

“So, vintage or just sentimental value?” Picking the frame off of the shelf, Rosalind turned to show him. Smiling slightly Phil took the object from her hands, pretending to examine it.

“The picture is vintage, old magazine ad,” he explained, pretending to wipe some dust from the glass. “The frame? Ikea.” He smiled sheepishly, carefully placing it back on the shelf.

“‘ _Trust Cap_ ,’” she read with a quirk in her lips and tone that probably meant he was being made fun of. “How long have you been a groupie?”

It was strange, how he simultaneously was able to let down his guard and stay on his toes at the same time with her. It was freeing, in a way, but also a challenge. A safer challenge than he was used to lately.

“We prefer ‘dedicated fan,’” he replied, and she nodded, chuckling quietly. It was intimate, in a way things hadn’t been in a long time. A _very_ long time.

“You’re _quite_ the superhero fan, aren’t you?” This time the tone was a little different. Teasing, but testing.

Sometimes that’s just how it was.

“I designed his uniform,” he told her, earning a raised eyebrow. “The first one, post... thawing. He’s had a few since then.” Sensing him creeping away from the un-asked questions, Rosalind just nodded, moving over to his record collection.

He had no right, being paranoid at her looking through his things. He’d done the same, hadn’t he?

_Maybe that’s why I’m paranoid._

“Is that where your interest in powered people came from?” She asked, looking instead at one of his records. Dusty Springfield, 1970.

“Interest?” He leaned back, sitting on top of his desk. Rosalind looked up, smiled.

“Just curious.”

He tried to think of something, some charming one liner, or harmless barb, but his train of thought was interrupted as everything in his office shook. Just slightly. Rosalind looked up at the ceiling, then him. Somehow, she seemed to know.

“Everything alright?” She asked, and he could see the gears turning. Trying to wipe any concern off of his face (he used to be so good at it) Phil just nodded, standing up. “You sure? You seem kind of twitchy.” Her eyes narrowed just slightly. “Was that--”

“It’s fine,” Phil said, walking over to her, looking through the records himself. It was Daisy, he knew it was. And Rosalind probably knew it too, she was too sharp to not pick up on it. But what could he say? ‘It’s fine, sometime she just loses control.’

It hadn’t happened in a long time, though. Only on rare occasions, if she felt threatened or needed a quick, controlled show of force.

Which is why it was bothering him so much.

“Was that Agent Johnson?” It was less of a question, more of a request for an explanation. (They spoke the same language, after all.)

“It’s nothing, I’m sure.”

“Does it happen often?”

Phil bit the inside of his cheek. “No,” he said honestly. “Early on, before she gained full control. Nightmares, mostly.” He cringed a little bit, knowing full well Daisy would not appreciate him sharing that bit of information. Not with _her_. But what was his alternative? Give her nothing until she formed her own ideas? Decided to look into it herself? He knew how she worked. It was how _he_ worked. 

Rosalind looked at his monitor. “It’s three in the afternoon,” she said bluntly. “So either she’s a napper or something is wrong, right?”

Daisy wasn’t a napper.

Rosalind placed a small, manicured hand on his shoulder. “Won’t hurt to check.”

 

Walking down the halls of the Playground, Phil saw Mack, who wasn’t sure where Daisy was. According to Fitz, who happened to overhear, she was probably in her bunk. _Maybe she did take a nap?_

“I don’t think she is,” Mack said, shaking his head at Fitz. “I thought I saw her head to the shooting range--”

“No, definitely saw her head to her room,” Fitz insisted, “Hunter’s in the range, though.” Mack shook his head, grumbling something as he walked toward the garage. Fitz frowned, looking at Coulson and Rosalind. “Sorry, not sure what that...whole thing was about,” he said, scratching his head.

Heading to her bunk, Phil ran through the possibilities. Sparring was out, as far as he could tell, but sometimes she did practice refining some of her skills in private. _Like making people float._

But he just knew that wasn’t the case. She was careful, doubly so with the ATCU there. He didn’t want to worry, but he wasn’t so great at that.

“Her powers, are they usually emotion-based?” Rosalind asked, _curious_ again. He could practically see her taking mental notes.

“She has a handle on them,” he said shortly. A few doors down from Daisy’s room, Coulson stopped. “It may be best if I check this out first,” he said reasonably. Rosalind smiled like she had seen that coming.

_Because she probably did._

“Sure thing,” she said, putting up her hands. Leaning against the wall, she watched him go.

Coulson walked over to Daisy's bunk, knocking briskly on the door. He was about to announce his presence when he heard shuffling from the other side. A few seconds later, it opened.

“Uh, hi, Sir,” Daisy said, looking caught off guard. Through the slim opening of the door, he could see the room was dark behind her, and she was wearing sweats. He hair was mussed.

 _She was asleep_ , he thought, relieved at least this was something they were familiar with. “Is everything okay?” Phil asked, and he saw a confused knit form in her brow. “A couple things in my office got shaken up." She blinked at him, and he lowered his voice. “Are you having nightmares again?” He could see a thin sheen of sweat on her face, which was flushed. He thought about placing a hand on her forehead, but Rosalind’s presence down the hall gave him pause. Daisy shook her head, looking a little out of it. Coulson frowned.

“Are you sick?” Maybe illness had brought it on? In all honestly, Phil didn’t want Daisy to be sick, but it would be something he could brush off to Rosalind, something rare and treatable. More so than a general loss of control, which Daisy really hadn’t had in a long time. Maybe it wasn’t the most reassuring thing to tell them, that a small quake had been brought on by a sneeze or something, but--

He and Daisy both jumped slightly, hearing a noise come from inside her room. It sounded like someone stumbling.

Inside her room.

 _She’s not alone._ Daisy must have seen the realization dawn on his face, because her own eyes widened. She must have seen him make the connection between the noise and the clothes and her flushed face and _an earthquake?_

“ _That_ was--” He said before he could stop himself, feeling like the world had somehow shifted sideways.

“Uh,” Daisy muttered, blinking hard like she was trying to refresh her brain or something. Phil could have used one of those.

“Sorry. I’m going to--” he pointed down the hallway, pursing his lips and nodding professionally before walking away at a deliberately normal pace. Phil tried to collect his thoughts.

_Okay. That happened._

It was none of his business what Daisy did, _but this was--_

“Is she okay?” Rosalind asked, an uncharacteristic look of concern on her face. Whether it was for Daisy or himself, he wasn’t sure, but Phil just nodded. She placed a hand on his forehead--like he had _almost_ done--frowning slightly. “Really? Because you look like someone just took a crowbar to your headlights.”

_Get it together._

But he couldn’t. He suddenly knew way _too much_ , had too clear a visual. Too many questions he had no business getting answered.

“Okay, I’m trying not to pester you here, but should I go check--”

“ _No_ ,” he said quickly, realizing that he needed to leave. _They_ needed to leave. Because he already was accidentally privy to something very private, and the last thing Daisy would want would be everyone on base knowing...that.

“Let’s go to my office,” he said, tapping Rosalind on her elbow lightly to lead her away. He could do this, he could be normal. No need for him to completely lose his cool because he now knew that the reason the base shook was because Daisy was-- he thought about his office. All those items he’d now have to move back into place, knowing what had disturbed them.

“Okay,” Rosalind said skeptically, and began to turn around. But then the sound of a door opening drew her attention.

Lincoln closed the door behind him, then looked down the hall. He gave them the usual surly look Phil was used to before walking the opposite direction. Determinedly not looking at Rosalind, Coulson began to walk to his office. He hoped, naively, that if he didn’t appear to notice anything, or let her ask him anything, she wouldn’t figure it out.

But she _was_ sharp.

Phil could practically feel the air change around them as it dawned on her, and he started to walk quicker.

“That was--” she said, but stopped herself. “I mean, people say they’re _earth shattering_ , but--”

“Just--don’t,” Phil pleaded, holding up a hand. She shouldn’t know this. _He_ shouldn’t know this.

 _This is not how you wanted to have found out_. He pushed that away.

“Look at you,” she said, sounding amused. “Getting all protective.”

Phil stopped. “What?”

 _Protective_? It was absurd on premise alone, because Daisy didn’t need any protecting. Least of all from him.

Rosalind’s eyes scanned his face. “That’s not why you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Phil said automatically. He wasn’t. He was just...disconcerted. And thirsty. Really thirsty, like he immediately needed a glass of water, or maybe a bourbon.

“Huh,” Rosalind said, giving him one more look before walking to his office.

He wasn’t upset.

Just alone.

***

“Oh god,” Daisy muttered, once she was relatively sure Coulson had walked away. She almost had to laugh. Almost. “‘ _Nothing happened Daisy, don’t worry about it,_ ’” she said gruffly, a poor imitation of Lincoln’s voice. “Nothing, except the whole base might know that my orgasms are about a two on the richter scale.” Daisy snorted, then tilted her head toward Lincoln who was pulling his shirt over his head. “Couldn't help but notice no flickering lights though," she said jokingly. "Should I be worried?" Lincoln gave her a slightly strained smile.  “Hey, don’t be embarrassed, you basically just earned the like, best bro brag ever.”

“Yeah,” Lincoln sighed, running a hand through his ever-tousled hair. “I’ll make sure to tell all my friends.”

Daisy felt like she’d been punched in the gut. _“Wow,_ okay. Sorry,” Daisy said, her silly, embarrassed energy evaporating immediately. “I didn’t mean to--”

“So are they always going to be checking up on you like this?” He asked, agitated. Daisy was at a loss.

 _What the hell?_ Things were fine, they were having fun. _He_ had been fine, she thought, since they’d relocated to the Playground. Still kind of grumpy, but more like the guy she met at Afterlife than she’d seen in a long time. They’d had a good day. It was _pretty darn_  good for a little while there, obviously. She looked around the room, noticing that indeed things seemed to be moved around slightly. Nothing broken, which was a relief, but she would probably need to work on that.

 _Though not again any time soon,_ she thought, watching Lincoln put on his shoes. She'd _needed_ that. After everything that had happened, and how long it had been since she felt that close to anyone, it just seemed like the right thing to do. But now that it was over, the same old realities came crashing back.

_Things are different._

Pulling on his jacket, Lincoln headed toward the door, but stopped in front of Daisy. Placing a hand on her cheek, he looked at her pleadingly. “Are you sure we have to stay?”

_He hates it here._

“You know I can’t leave,” she said, reaching up to put her hand over his. He withdrew it before she could. Hearing the door close, Daisy flopped backward onto the bed. She wanted to help him, _had_ wanted to help him. Had thought that they could give each other what they needed. But she was almost positive now that they needed two very different things.

 _Alone again,_ she thought ruefully, wondering if she was imagining the heels she heard clicking down the hall. Looking at her bedside table she saw the hula girl still moving slightly, the last vestiges of her latest ‘discovery.’ Pulling a pillow over her face, Daisy just laughed.

 

 _Ice cream_ had been the all-consuming thought when she awoke later that night, though even as she crept to the kitchen she prepared herself for disappointment. She and Mack had been on a “junk free” binge for a couple weeks, and painful as it was, it was a team effort. Briefly she considered waking him, dragging him out of bed for some snacks and video games that wouldn’t count as cheating because it was in the middle of the night, right?

Rather than sabotage herself and Mack, she decided she would take a look at May and Jemma’s extensive tea collection instead. It may not be sweet, but it was interesting and soothing and all that jazz, right? She opened the kitchen cabinets, sifting through the bags and canisters for something that was intriguing enough to sip on that she’d forget about how much she would kill for some rocky road.

Putting the kettle on, she leaned against the counter.

“Oh, hi,” she heard, jumping slightly.

 _Coulson_.

“Hey,” she said, placing a hand over her chest, “sorry, you surprised me.” Coulson held up his hands in apology, and Daisy noticed there were two of them. _He wears it to sleep?_ Coulson seemed to see her gaze, and put his hands down. “Sorry, is that _comfortable_?”

Daisy tried to be delicate but frank, not coddle him. It wasn’t what she ever wanted from him, so she assumed he felt the same. If he didn’t want to talk about it, he’d say so.

“Not particularly,” he admitted, looking the prosthetic over. “But it’s not exactly comfortable without it either.” Daisy winced at his quiet, defeated tone.

“I’m boiling water, want tea or something?” She asked, watching as he moved to sit at the counter. He frowned tiredly.

“You drink tea?” He asked, and Daisy rolled her eyes. “You and Mack are still doing that cleanse thing,” he realized. Rather than accept tea, he moved to the cabinets where the booze was hiding. The cheap stuff.

“Ew, it’s not a _cleanse_ ,” she said, laughing. “It’s an agreement between two partners to better assist each other in the field by being healthier.” It was basically a mantra at this point, something they had to remind themselves every time they were faced with a slice of pizza or bowl of popcorn (pre-buttered) or that one time they followed a potential Inhuman into a bakery.

“Because both of you are so unfit?” Coulson asked skeptically, and Daisy decided to interpret the way he seemed to do a quick head-to-toe glance at her as him assessing her physical health. Not that he could see much while she was buried in a sweater and sweatpants, but hey. Peering into the cabinet he nodded approvingly as he found a bottle of whiskey in the back. He grabbed a glass, walking back to the table.

“We just want to be working at our best possible level, and realized we tend to overdo it when we get stressed,” she answered, shrugging. “Decided maybe it was time to be more careful about what we put inside our bodies.”

_There it is._

Coulson cleared his throat, suddenly looking very consumed by the arduous task of pouring his --generous--drink.

“About that,” Daisy said, seeing his shoulders freeze. “So, weird, I know, but--” Phil waved his hand at her.

“I’m sorry, I just thought--”

“You thought I was having a nightmare, or a problem, I get it,” she said. She wasn’t bothered that he checked on her, that was kind of his MO. It was just...unfortunate timing. “And if I knew, and could have spared you the gory details, I would have,” she said wryly, hoping jokes would help.

Phil rubbed a hand over his face, looking extremely uncomfortable, so perhaps jokes weren’t helping.

“Look, this is only as embarrassing as you make it, Boss,” she said frankly, pulling the kettle off of the burner. “The more you freak out, the more I freak out, and I would prefer to be done freaking out about the things my body does without my control.” _Although this was certainly unexpected_. Coulson looked stricken.

“I’m so sorry, Daisy,” he said sincerely. She didn’t need his apology though, she knew he would never intentionally hurt her, or embarrass her. That was just Coulson. No matter where he was, how many hands he had, or whichever shady person was tying his ties, he was still the same old Coulson.

 _Of course_ , everything was brought back to _Rosalind_. If he was here, was she in his room? Waiting for him? Maybe wondering why his trip to the bathroom or to get water seemed to be taking so long... The prosthetic, was it for his benefit, or hers? Had she seen him without it?

_Stop it. It’s none of my business._

But it _was_ , though. _Coulson_ was her business. So were the Inhumans for that matter, and now Price was getting involved with both of them.

But Phil was an adult. He could be with whomever he wanted to.

 _As long as they don’t hurt him. Otherwise…_ She’d asked Rosalind if she was afraid of her, of Inhumans, and she’d said yes. But she had _no_ idea. Daisy hoped, for everyone’s sake, except maybe her own, that she never would have to find out.

“I assume you haven’t...dealt with this issue before?” Coulson asked, drawing Daisy out of her only slightly vengeful thoughts. He was actually asking for details? Not in a gross or weird way, just curiosity. Maybe caution, considering okay it was kind of dangerous if she could shake the foundations of their secret base just by getting off.

 _And that wasn’t even a big one_ , she acknowledged to herself. No offense to Lincoln, but hey, it was a first time. _And maybe a last_ , considering his mood.

“Yeah, I mean, not like _that_. It was sort of a first,” Daisy said, frowning. “Obviously I haven’t--god, it’s been that long hasn’t it?” She asked, putting her head in her hands.

“Tell me about it,” Coulson muttered, taking a sip of whiskey.

Choosing to bypass asking for details there (she was no prude, but would have to selfishly protect her own feelings before finding out if he wanted to talk about his. She just couldn’t. Not about this,) Daisy grabbed her steeping tea and sat across from him.

“I’m not sure it’s going to be a problem again anytime soon,” she said crisply, ignoring any faces she might get from that tidbit of information, “but...it’s probably something I need to figure out, down the road. Preferably off base so I don’t destroy anything. Poor me, right?” She joked, before remembering that wasn’t working so well right now and taking a sip of her tea. Her tongue was scorched, of course.  

Phil seemed to consider his drink. “You know, I’m afraid I can’t write off a trip like that as a business expense,” he said, smirking just enough that it felt a little dirty. In a good way, like things were once upon a time, when it was fine to toe the line of professionalism. (It was a different line, that one. Different from the one they had crossed so many times it was basically hopscotch.)

“What, you don’t want to explain that to accounting?”

Phil shook his head. “I don’t even know where I’d find a form for it.”

Daisy laughed. “You’d probably have to write one.” Phil shook his head, and poured another drink. She hadn’t realized he’d finished the first.

“So wait,” he said, taking a sip. He looked at her questioningly, like he maybe wasn’t sure about what he was going to ask. She lifted her brows, giving permission. Coulson considered her for a second. “You haven’t…”

“Not with another person, no,” she said, remarkably cool for whatever the hell this conversation was.

Coulson for his part seemed unaffected. “And it wasn’t an issue _then_ ,” he surmised, and Daisy shook her head. She could have sworn she saw something pass over his face then, but it was just for a second. He took another drink. “You’d think Lincoln would look a little less miserable,” he muttered, and Daisy’s eyes widened.

Coulson’s head shot up. “I’m sorry, that was--”

“No,” Daisy interrupted, trying not to laugh. “That’s not--you’re not wrong,” she said, but Phil still looked embarrassed. It was a fairly personal comment for him to make, as close as they were. And they both knew there was no love lost between him and Lincoln. “Like I said, I don’t think it’s going to be an issue again for a while.”

“I’m...sorry?” He said, and Daisy laughed. “I mean, if he doesn’t--” he waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll do better,” he said, and Daisy was beginning to wonder if the whiskey was kicking in. He was so...open.

 _And apparently it’s not problem for_ him _to think about_ me _with other people,_ she thought shamefully. Is this what he wanted? A friend he could vent to and talk about relationship things with? Someone neutral and impartial?

Because she couldn’t be that for him.

“Probably,” Daisy said lightly, sipping her tea. It was something black and vaguely citrusy, and just okay. Certainly no ice cream. “I mean, it wasn’t _amazing_ ,” she said honestly. Maybe it was a bit mean, but if Lincoln didn’t want her to make jokes about their sex maybe he shouldn’t have stormed out after and not talk to her for the rest of the day. As mature as that was.

Coulson dropped both hands to the table. “You knocked over my Bee Gees albums,” he said accusingly. “What’s going to happen when you find someone--” He actually grimaced then.

_Now he’s getting squeamish?_

Maybe it was time to stop talking about it.

“I should probably…” she gestured to the door, picking up her cup and heading to the sink. As she reached the counter Coulson stood up, and out of instinct she put her cup down. It was the right move because in a second he had lifted her up off the floor and onto the counter, his hands gripping her hips tightly. He practically smashed his mouth against hers, and through the cloud of ‘ _What the fuck is happening,_ ’ Daisy wondered if the sloppiness was from the enthusiasm she could feel pressing against the inside of her thigh or the whiskey she could taste on his tongue. Wrapping her arms around his neck she dug her fingers into Phil's hair, pulling slightly. He moaned into her mouth and moved impossibly closer, pressing his erection right at the center of her.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Daisy whispered against his mouth, and Coulson made a noise of agreement as he moved both of his hands to her ass and tried to pull her closer to him. Directing him with a hand in his hair, Daisy pulled him up to kiss her again after he’d tried to make a beeline for her neck. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she could feel one of Coulson’s hands slip under her waistband.

The sound of breaking glass tore them apart. Breathing heavily they each looked around before spotting the culprit: Daisy’s empty mug, now in pieces on the floor.

Neither of them had touched it.

Looking around the kitchen, Daisy checked for any other signs of a disturbance. The contents of the whiskey bottle sloshed slightly with the aftermath.

Coulson pulled his hand out of her pants. He hadn’t even touched her. _Yet_.

And judging from the way he was pulling away, he wasn’t going to. Looking from the cup to her (but not meeting her eyes, of course,) Phil had this terrible conflicted look on his face Daisy was not liking. Staring at the cup, his brow furrowed in what looked like confusion. His hands rested on the counter at either side of her, and all Daisy wanted to do was grab them and make them pick up where they left off.

“Phil,” she said quietly, and he looked up. “I--”

“I’ll clean that up,” he said quickly, stepping away from the counter. Watching him, Daisy swallowed a lump in her throat.

Of course he should clean it up. _It’s his fault after all, isn’t it?_

Letting him pick up the pieces and drop them in the trash, Daisy sat on the counter until he’d finished, not noticing he was standing in front of her until he quietly called her name.

 _Because he’s standing so far away_. She looked up, knowing she wasn’t going to like the look on his face or the words he was going to say one bit. So instead she hopped back onto the floor, the one he’d literally swept her off of just moments before.

“Goodnight Director,” she said, walking out the door.

***

Phil always knew he’d screw things up, but even he could never predict how badly. No matter what doubts he went in with, something else would get thrown in, something he didn’t see coming.

He’d screwed up. And then, in trying to remedy that, he’d done it again.

 _I need to get my head together_ , he thought that morning, going through the morning routine like hadn’t catastrophically fucked up. He needed to get his head together and his affairs in order before he did anything. Because when he acted rashly, he made mistakes.

So he’d have to go about it logically.

So he’d announce that they would be investigating the ATCU, so he could know once and for all what he had gotten himself into there. Then if they found something, he’d break it off and beg for Daisy’s forgiveness. If they didn’t…

He didn’t know.

So he’d tell them about the mission, and when Daisy said she had a question, he’d give nothing away. He’d let her ask it and not refuse because he was afraid of what she might say, what she might give away about what had transpired. And when she asked “why now?” with the tiniest spark of hope he was sure only he could see in her eyes, he’d make it clear that he _wanted_ to trust the ATCU, that this _wasn’t_ him second-guessing himself and hoping to find something, anything to allow him to undo what he’d done.

He’d answer her professionally, as if she hadn’t tilted his entire world on its axis the previous night, as if he didn’t know exactly why the room had shaken before he’d even put his hands on her the way we wanted to, his _mouth_ on her the way that he wanted to. He’d watch her face fall and not do anything about it, because it was important to him that he know he’d made the right choice with not only the ATCU, but with Rosalind as well.

He’d lie.

 

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA SORRY  
> Did you think you were going to get a fun fluffy time out of this? Sigh. I hurt myself so they can't do it first. The melodrama of this week from me, I apologize.


End file.
